Speaker 1: I'm not someone who gets scared easily. I loved horror movies.
Speaker 1: The scarier the better. I'd watched them late at night,
Speaker 1: the house dark, silent, But no matter how tense the
Speaker 1: scenes got, I could always remind myself it was just
Speaker 1: a movie, just fiction. Real life wasn't like that. At
Speaker 1: least that's what I used to believe. That night started
Speaker 1: like any other. It was late September and the weather
Speaker 1: had taken a sudden turn. The air was cool, almost chilly,
Speaker 1: and a storm was rolling in the kind that always
Speaker 1: seemed to come out of nowhere as summer slipped into fall.
Speaker 1: I was home alone, enjoying the quiet. After a long day.
Speaker 1: I had the house to myself. My roommate Sam was
Speaker 1: out of town for the weekend, and I planned to
Speaker 1: make the most of it. The rain had just started,
Speaker 1: a soft patter against the windows that gradually grew louder,
Speaker 1: more insistent. I was in the living room, curled up
Speaker 1: on the couch with my laptop, halfway through a new
Speaker 1: game I'd been obsessing over for days. It was one
Speaker 1: of those story driven games, the kind that pulls you
Speaker 1: in with its world and characters. I was lost in
Speaker 1: it completely absorbed, the outside world, fading away as I
Speaker 1: navigated through the game's eerie, haunted landscapes. The first flash
Speaker 1: of lightning pulled me out of the game, the sudden
Speaker 1: brightness filling the room for a split second before plunging
Speaker 1: it back into darkness. I glanced up, noticing for the
Speaker 1: first time how dark it had gotten outside. The storm
Speaker 1: had moved in fast, the wind picking up, rattling the windows.
Speaker 1: Thunder rumbled overhead, a deep growling sound that seemed to
Speaker 1: vibrate through the walls. I hit pause on the game,
Speaker 1: feeling a sudden urge to stretch my legs. The room
Speaker 1: felt too quiet now, the sounds of the storm creeping
Speaker 1: in around the edges of my consciousness. I stood up
Speaker 1: and walked over to the window, peering out into the street.
Speaker 1: The rain was coming down in sheets, the street lights
Speaker 1: casting distorted reflections on the wet pavement. The houses across
Speaker 1: the street were dark, the windows lifeless and empty. Everyone
Speaker 1: huddled inside against the storm. I was just about to
Speaker 1: turn away when I saw him. He was standing on
Speaker 1: the sidewalk directly across the street from my house. At first,
Speaker 1: I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me, but
Speaker 1: then another flash of lightning lit up the sky and
Speaker 1: I saw him clearly, a man in a gray hoodie,
Speaker 1: standing completely still, as if he was looking directly at me.
Speaker 1: My first thought was that he must be waiting for someone,
Speaker 1: maybe one of the neighbors, but the way he stood there,
Speaker 1: so unnervingly calm in the middle of the storm set
Speaker 1: off alarm bells in my mind. I watched him for
Speaker 1: a moment longer, hoping he would move, give some indication
Speaker 1: that he was just a normal person caught in the rain.
Speaker 1: But he didn't move. He just stood there staring. A
Speaker 1: cold shiver ran down my spine, and I quickly pulled
Speaker 1: the curtain closed. It was probably, I told myself, just
Speaker 1: some guy who got caught in the storm, but I
Speaker 1: couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, that there
Speaker 1: was something more to his presence than just bad timing.
Speaker 1: I tried to focus on the game again, but my
Speaker 1: concentration was broken. I kept glancing at the window, half
Speaker 1: expecting to see him standing there staring in at me.
Speaker 1: After a few minutes, I gave up and turned the
Speaker 1: game off. The house felt too big, too empty, the
Speaker 1: silence pressing in around me. I wandered into the kitchen,
Speaker 1: thinking I might make some tea to calm my nerves.
Speaker 1: The rain was still coming down hard, the sound of
Speaker 1: it drumming against the roof filling the room. I was
Speaker 1: reaching for the kettle when the doorbell rang. The sound
Speaker 1: cut through the quiet like a knife, making me jump.
Speaker 1: I stood there for a moment, staring at the door,
Speaker 1: my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't expecting anyone,
Speaker 1: especially not in this weather. Who could it be? The
Speaker 1: doorbell rang again, more insistent time. I slowly made my
Speaker 1: way to the front door, my mind racing. It could
Speaker 1: be a delivery person, I thought, or maybe one of
Speaker 1: the neighbors needing something. But as I reached the door
Speaker 1: and peered through the peep hole, my breath caught in
Speaker 1: my throat. It was him, the man in the hoodie
Speaker 1: was standing on my front porch, his face hidden in
Speaker 1: the shadow of the hood but I could feel his
Speaker 1: eyes on me, could sense the intensity of his gaze
Speaker 1: even through the door. I froze, my hand hovering over
Speaker 1: the doorknob. What the hell was he doing here? How
Speaker 1: did he get from the street to my porch so quickly,
Speaker 1: so silently. My mind was a whirlwind of questions, none
Speaker 1: of which had any comforting answers. He didn't move, He
Speaker 1: just stood there waiting. I didn't open the door. Something
Speaker 1: deep inside me told me that would be a very
Speaker 1: bad idea. Instead, I backed away, moving as quietly as
Speaker 1: I could, my heart hammering in my chest. I crept
Speaker 1: back into the living room, keeping the lights off, hoping
Speaker 1: he wouldn't see me. Through the windows. I could hear
Speaker 1: my own breathing, ragged and uneven, the sound almost as
Speaker 1: loud as the rain. For what felt like an eternity,
Speaker 1: I just stood there, listening, waiting, but the doorbell didn't
Speaker 1: ring again. Slowly, I began to relax, convincing myself that
Speaker 1: maybe he'd gone, maybe it was just some weird prank
Speaker 1: or a case of mistaken identity. But then I heard it,
Speaker 1: the sound of footsteps, soft but unmistakable, moving around the
Speaker 1: side of the house. My blood ran cold. He was
Speaker 1: still here, still looking for a way in. I moved
Speaker 1: as quietly as I could, trying to stay calm, trying
Speaker 1: to think the doors were locked, but there were windows
Speaker 1: all around the house, and the thought of him finding
Speaker 1: a way in slipping through the shadows while I stood
Speaker 1: helplessly inside was almost too much to bear. I grabbed
Speaker 1: my phone and dialed Sam's number. He didn't answer, of course,
Speaker 1: he was probably out with friends, his phone on silent.
Speaker 1: I cursed under my breath, my mind racing through my options.
Speaker 1: I could all the police, but what would I say
Speaker 1: that some guy was standing outside my house. They wouldn't
Speaker 1: take it seriously, not unless he actually tried to break in.
Speaker 1: The footsteps stopped, and for a moment everything was eerily silent.
Speaker 1: I held my breath, straining to hear any sign of movement,
Speaker 1: but there was nothing, just the rain pounding relentlessly against
Speaker 1: the windows. Then out of nowhere, there was a loud bang,
Speaker 1: a single sharp sound that echoed through the house, making
Speaker 1: me jump out of my skin. It was coming from
Speaker 1: the back door, the one that led out to the
Speaker 1: small patio and garden. I turned and ran toward it,
Speaker 1: my heart pounding in my ears. I reached the kitchen
Speaker 1: just in time to see him, a fleeting glimpse of
Speaker 1: movement through the glass, the dark shape of the man
Speaker 1: in the hoodie pressing up against the door. His face
Speaker 1: was obscured, but I could see his hands, pale and
Speaker 1: ghostly as they pressed against the glass trying the handle.
Speaker 1: Panics surged through me, and without thinking, I grabbed the
Speaker 1: near thing, a kitchen knife, sharp and cold in my
Speaker 1: trembling hand. I held it in front of me as
Speaker 1: if it could somehow protect me from the horror outside.
Speaker 1: The door rattled as he tried to force it open,
Speaker 1: but thankfully it was locked. I watched in frozen terror
Speaker 1: as he continued to press against the glass, his breath
Speaker 1: fogging up the window. He was close enough now that
Speaker 1: I could see his eyes, cold, dark and utterly devoid
Speaker 1: of any emotion. For a moment, I was paralyzed, caught
Speaker 1: between the instinct to run and the need to stand
Speaker 1: my ground. Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared,
Speaker 1: he stepped back, melting into the shadows. I could barely
Speaker 1: breathe as I waited, expecting him to try another door,
Speaker 1: another window, But he didn't. He was gone. I don't
Speaker 1: know how long I stood there, clutching the knife, my
Speaker 1: body shaking with adrenaline in fear. The storm raged on outside,
Speaker 1: but the house was silent, every creek amplified by the
Speaker 1: tension that hung in the air. Finally, I managed to
Speaker 1: gather my courage and make my way to the front door.
Speaker 1: I hesitated for a moment, then slowly opened it, peering
Speaker 1: out into the storm. The porch was empty, the street
Speaker 1: beyond dark and deserted. But as I closed the door,
Speaker 1: I saw it, a small piece of paper taped to
Speaker 1: the glass at eye level. My hands were trembling as
Speaker 1: I reached for it, peeling it off with a sense
Speaker 1: of dread that settled in the pit of my stomach.
Speaker 1: The note was simple, written in neat, precise handwriting, Have
Speaker 1: you forgotten? The words on the note haunted me for days.
Speaker 1: I couldn't stop thinking about them, couldn't stop replaying that
Speaker 1: night over and over in my mind. The man in
Speaker 1: the hoodie, the way he had moved so silently, so deliberately,
Speaker 1: and that question, have you forgotten? What the hell did
Speaker 1: it mean? I tried to go about my daily life
Speaker 1: as normally as possible, but the truth was I was rattled.
Speaker 1: I'd never experienced anything like that before, and the fear
Speaker 1: had settled deep in my bones, gnawing at me. Whenever
Speaker 1: I was alone, I found myself constantly looking over my shoulder,
Speaker 1: jumping at every small noise, every creak of the floorboards.
Speaker 1: SAM noticed something was off the moment he got back. Dude,
Speaker 1: you okay, you look like you've seen a ghost, he said,
Speaker 1: dropping his bag by the door and giving me a
Speaker 1: concerned look. I forced a laugh, trying to brush it off. Yeah,
Speaker 1: just didn't sleep well. The storm was pretty intense. He nodded,
Speaker 1: accepting the excuse without question. But as the days went
Speaker 1: by he started to pick up on my unease. I'd
Speaker 1: catch him watching me, his brow furrowed with concern, but
Speaker 1: he didn't press. That was one of the things I
Speaker 1: appreciated about Sam. He knew when to give me space.
Speaker 1: Then one night I got a call. It was late,
Speaker 1: probably close to midnight, and I was lying in bed,
Speaker 1: staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. My phone buzzed
Speaker 1: on the nightstand and I grabbed it, hoping it was
Speaker 1: Sam Felt who was out laid again. But it wasn't Sam.
Speaker 1: The caller ID was blocked, just a series of numbers
Speaker 1: that didn't make any sense. For a moment, I can
Speaker 1: or not answering, but something compelled me to press the
Speaker 1: accept button. Hello silence. I could hear nothing but the
Speaker 1: sound of my own breathing, the steady thump of my
Speaker 1: heart in my ears. Hello, I tried again, my voice
Speaker 1: trembling slightly. Then I heard it, a soft, raspy whisper,
Speaker 1: barely audible over the static. Have you forgotten? The line
Speaker 1: went dead. I stared at the phone, my heart pounding
Speaker 1: so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.
Speaker 1: I didn't recognize the voice, but the words were the same,
Speaker 1: the same chilling question that had been left on the note.
Speaker 1: I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't. Every time I
Speaker 1: closed my eyes, I saw his face, that pale, emotionless face,
Speaker 1: staring at me from the shadows. I tried to tell
Speaker 1: myself it was just a coincidence, just some sick joke.
Speaker 1: But I knew better he wasn't done with me. And
Speaker 1: then I heard it, the sound of footsteps, soft and deliberate,
Speaker 1: moving through the house. My blood turned to ice. I
Speaker 1: knew those footsteps, had heard them before. I stood up,
Speaker 1: my heart racing, every nerve in my body screaming at
Speaker 1: me to run. But where would I go? There was
Speaker 1: nowhere to hide, nowhere he couldn't find me. I grabbed
Speaker 1: the kitchen knife again, my hands trembling as I held
Speaker 1: it in front of me. The footsteps grew louder, closer,
Speaker 1: until they stopped just outside the living room door. I
Speaker 1: held my breath, every muscle in my body tense with fear.
Speaker 1: The silence was deafening, the anticipation almost unbearable. Then the
Speaker 1: door slowly creaked open, and there he was, the man
Speaker 1: in the hoodie stood in the doorway, his face obscured,
Speaker 1: but I could see his eyes, cold, dark and filled
Speaker 1: with something that sent a shiver down my spine. He
Speaker 1: didn't speak, he just stood there watching me, his presence
Speaker 1: filling the room with a suffocating sense of dread. I
Speaker 1: tightened my grip on the knife, my mind racing. I
Speaker 1: had to do something, had to protect myself. But before
Speaker 1: I could move, he took a step forward and I froze.
Speaker 1: Why are you doing this? I finally managed to whisper,
Speaker 1: my voice shaking. He tilted his head slightly, as if
Speaker 1: considering my question, then took another step forward. Have you forgotten?
Speaker 1: He whispered, his voice low and raspy, like the sound
Speaker 1: of dry leaves rustling in the wind. The words sent
Speaker 1: a jolt of terror through me, and I stumbled back,
Speaker 1: my back hitting the wall. I wanted to scream, wanted
Speaker 1: to call for help, but my throat had closed up,
Speaker 1: the words trapped in my chest. He took another step forward,
Speaker 1: and I could see his face, now pale and gaunt,
Speaker 1: his eyes sunken deep into their sockets. There was something
Speaker 1: familiar about him, something that tugged at the edges of
Speaker 1: my memory, but I couldn't place it. Please just leave
Speaker 1: me alone, I begged, my voice barely a whisper, but
Speaker 1: he didn't stop. He just kept coming, his footsteps soft
Speaker 1: and deliberate, until he was standing right in front of me.
Speaker 1: I closed my eyes, bracing myself for whatever was about
Speaker 1: to happen. But instead of the cold touch of his hand,
Speaker 1: I heard the door slam shut. I opened my eyes.
Speaker 1: He was gone. The room was empty, the door closed,
Speaker 1: as if he had never been there. I collapsed to
Speaker 1: the floor, the knife slipping from my fingers as I
Speaker 1: gasped for breath. My whole body was trembling, my mind
Speaker 1: racing as I tried to make sense of what had
Speaker 1: just happened. But there were no answers, no explanation that
Speaker 1: made any sense. All I knew was that the man
Speaker 1: in the hoodie was gone, and for the first time
Speaker 1: in what felt like forever, I was alone, or so
Speaker 1: I thought, as I sat there, trying to calm my
Speaker 1: racing heart. I noticed something on the floor just a
Speaker 1: few feet away from where I was sitting. There was
Speaker 1: another note, written in the same neat, precise handwriting as before.
Speaker 1: This one said something different. You will remember I never
Speaker 1: saw him again, but that last note couldn't be more right.
Speaker 1: It's been years since that night, and I remember it
Speaker 1: like it was just yesterday. I've always found something oddly
Speaker 1: calming about thunderstorms. There's a rhythm to them, the way
Speaker 1: the rain falls in sheets, the low rumble of thunder
Speaker 1: in the distance, the way the world seems to pause
Speaker 1: for a moment, wrapped in nature's fury. My six year
Speaker 1: old son, Arthur, has inherited this fascination. It's become something
Speaker 1: of a tradition for us to sit together under the
Speaker 1: gazebo in our backyard and watch the storms roll in.
Speaker 1: That night in August started like any other. The storm
Speaker 1: had been predicted all week, a late summer tempest meant
Speaker 1: to break the heat wave that had kept us all
Speaker 1: sweltering for days. As soon as the first drops of
Speaker 1: rain began to patter against the windows, Arthur tugged at
Speaker 1: my sleeve, his eyes wide with excitement. Dad, can we
Speaker 1: go outside please? I smiled at his enthusiasm. There was
Speaker 1: no denying him. Sure, buddy, let's grab some snacks and
Speaker 1: head out to the gazebo. As we walked outside, the
Speaker 1: world was already trans forming. The dark clouds overhead seemed
Speaker 1: to swallow the last remnants of daylight, turning the sky
Speaker 1: into a rolling, turbulent sea of gray. The air was
Speaker 1: thick and heavy, with the kind of stillness that only
Speaker 1: comes before a big storm. We made our way to
Speaker 1: the gazebo, an old wooden structure at the back of
Speaker 1: the yard, nestled near the tree line. It was our
Speaker 1: little haven, a place where we could sit and watch
Speaker 1: the world turn chaotic while staying safely dry. We settled in,
Speaker 1: Arthur munching on a bag of chips while I leaned
Speaker 1: back on the bench, listening to the soft rustle of
Speaker 1: leaves in the wind. The first flashes of lightning streaked
Speaker 1: across the sky, illuminating the trees at the edge of
Speaker 1: our yard in stark white light. Arthur's eyes were glued
Speaker 1: to the scene, the glow of the storm reflecting in
Speaker 1: his wide eyes. Wow did you see that one, Dad?
Speaker 1: He asked, his voice full of awe. Sure did, I replied,
Speaker 1: smiling at him. It's a big one tonight. The storm
Speaker 1: continued to grow in intensity, rain picking up until it
Speaker 1: was a steady roar on the gazebo's roof. Thunder cracked overhead,
Speaker 1: close enough to make us both jump slightly, followed by
Speaker 1: Arthur's giggle of excitement. There was something primal about being
Speaker 1: out there in the midst of the storm, yet safe
Speaker 1: from its reach. But as the storm raged on, something
Speaker 1: made me feel strange. It was subtle at first, just
Speaker 1: a feeling at the edge of my awareness, like the
Speaker 1: prickle of cold fingers on the back of my neck.
Speaker 1: The air seemed to grow colder, and the shadows cast
Speaker 1: by the lightning grew longer, deeper. I tried to shake
Speaker 1: off the unease, chalking it up to my imagination. That's
Speaker 1: when Arthur spoke up. Dad. Look over there, he said,
Speaker 1: pointing towards the tree line at the far end of
Speaker 1: the yard. I followed his gaze, squinting through the sheets
Speaker 1: of rain. For a moment, I saw nothing but the
Speaker 1: dark silhouette of the trees swaying in the wind. But
Speaker 1: then as the next flash of lightning lit up the yard.
Speaker 1: I saw it, a figure standing just at the edge
Speaker 1: of the woods, almost blending in with the darkness. It
Speaker 1: was a person, or at least it looked like one.
Speaker 1: They were too far away from me to make out
Speaker 1: any details, but something about the way they stood, so still,
Speaker 1: so silent, sent a chill down my spine. Probably just
Speaker 1: someone from the neighborhood, I told myself, But the words
Speaker 1: rang hollow even as I said them. Why would anyone
Speaker 1: be out there in the middle of a storm, just
Speaker 1: standing in our backyard. Arthur was watching me, waiting for reassurance.
Speaker 1: I forced a smile and patted his shoulder. It's okay, buddy,
Speaker 1: Probably just someone passing by. Stay here, I'll go check
Speaker 1: it out. I grabbed the flashlight from the shelf by
Speaker 1: the door and stepped out into the storm, the rains
Speaker 1: soaking through my clothes. In seconds, I made my way
Speaker 1: across the yard, the beam of the flashlight cutting through
Speaker 1: the sheets of rain. The figure was still there, standing
Speaker 1: motionless at the edge of the woods. Hey, I called out,
Speaker 1: trying to keep my voice steady. You are right. No response.
Speaker 1: The figure didn't move, didn't acknowledge me at all. I
Speaker 1: felt a not tighten in my stomach. I was closer,
Speaker 1: now close enough to see that whoever it was, they
Speaker 1: were wearing something dark, maybe a hoodie with the hood
Speaker 1: pulled up over their head. Listen, if you're lost, I
Speaker 1: can help you. I tried again, but there was still
Speaker 1: no reaction. I took a few more steps forward, but
Speaker 1: as I did, the figure turned and disappeared into the trees,
Speaker 1: moving so quickly and silently that for a moment I
Speaker 1: wondered if I had imagined the whole thing. The woods
Speaker 1: swallowed them up, the darkness closing in. I stood there
Speaker 1: for a moment, staring into the woods, my heart pounding.
Speaker 1: I wanted to follow, to make sure there really was
Speaker 1: someone out there, but the rational part of me knew
Speaker 1: it was a bad idea. I was already soaked to
Speaker 1: the bone, and the thought of stumbling through the woods
Speaker 1: in the dark in the middle of a storm didn't
Speaker 1: seem like the smartest plan. I turned back toward the house,
Speaker 1: forcing myself to walk calmly, not wanting to show Arthur
Speaker 1: how rattled I was. As I reached the gazebo, I
Speaker 1: found him sitting where I'd left him, his face pale.
Speaker 1: Did you see him, dad, he asked, his voice small
Speaker 1: and frightened. I saw someone. But they're gone now, I said,
Speaker 1: trying to sound reassuring. Probably just someone from the neighborhood.
Speaker 1: They must have gotten lost in the storm. Arthur nodded,
Speaker 1: but he didn't look convinced. Neither was I. To be honest,
Speaker 1: but I didn't want to scare him. Let's head inside. Okay,
Speaker 1: this storm's getting worse, Arthur didn't argue. We gathered up
Speaker 1: our things and made our way back to the house,
Speaker 1: the wind howling around us. As we stepped inside. I
Speaker 1: locked the door behind us, feeling an odd sense of
Speaker 1: relief at being back in the warm, well lit house.
Speaker 1: The storm continued to rage outside, the windows rattling in
Speaker 1: their frames, but at least we were safe, or so
Speaker 1: I thought. That night, the storm reached its peak. The
Speaker 1: rain came down in torrents, the wind howling like a
Speaker 1: living thing, shaking the house to its foundations. The power
Speaker 1: flickered a few times, casting the house in sudden darkness
Speaker 1: before the lights would buzz back to life. Arthur had
Speaker 1: gone to bed, but I could tell he was still
Speaker 1: uneasy about what we'd seen. After checking on him, I
Speaker 1: made my way to my own bedroom. I tried to
Speaker 1: shake off the lingering sense of unease, telling myself it
Speaker 1: was just the storm getting to me. But as I
Speaker 1: lay in bed, listening to the wind and the rain,
Speaker 1: sleep didn't come easily. It was sometime in the middle
Speaker 1: of the night when I heard Arthur's voice calling out
Speaker 1: for me, Dad, come here. I was out of bed
Speaker 1: in an instant, my heart racing, I hurried down the
Speaker 1: hallway to his room, finding him sitting up in bed,
Speaker 1: his eyes wide with fear. What is it, Arthur, what's wrong?
Speaker 1: I asked, kneeling beside him. He's outside, Dad, Arthur whispered,
Speaker 1: pointing towards the window, the man from the woods. My
Speaker 1: blood ran cold. I turned slowly to look out the window,
Speaker 1: my breath catching in my throat. At first I saw
Speaker 1: nothing but the rain streaked glass, the trees thrashing in
Speaker 1: the wind beyond. But then as the lightning flashed, I
Speaker 1: saw him, a figure standing just outside the window, so
Speaker 1: close I could almost make out his features. He was
Speaker 1: taller than I'd thought, with broad shoulders hunched under the
Speaker 1: weight of the storm. The hood was still up, hiding
Speaker 1: his face in shadow, but I could see his eyes cold,
Speaker 1: dark eyes that seemed to bore into me. I felt
Speaker 1: a surge of protectiveness and fear all at once. This
Speaker 1: wasn't just some lost stranger. Whoever this was, they had
Speaker 1: come back, and now they were right outside my son's window.
Speaker 1: Stay here, I told Arthur, my voice shaking slightly despite
Speaker 1: my efforts to stay calm. I'm going to take care
Speaker 1: of this. I didn't wait for a response. I grabbed
Speaker 1: the baseball bat I kept in the closet and headed outside,
Speaker 1: my heart pounding in my chest. The house felt different now,
Speaker 1: the walls closing in around me. As I made my
Speaker 1: way to the back door, I threw it open and
Speaker 1: then stepped out into the storm. Once more. The bat
Speaker 1: clenched tightly in my hands. The rain was coming down
Speaker 1: even harder now, each drop like a tiny hammer on
Speaker 1: my skin. I moved quickly, scanning the yard for any
Speaker 1: sign of the figure. For a moment I thought he
Speaker 1: was gone, but then I saw him standing by the
Speaker 1: corner of the house, half hidden in the shadows. He
Speaker 1: was watching me. Hey, I shouted, raising the bat, get
Speaker 1: the hell out of here, leave us alone. The figure
Speaker 1: didn't move, He just stood there, watching me with those
Speaker 1: dark unblinking eyes. My pulse was racing a mix of
Speaker 1: fear and anger, churning in my gut. I took a
Speaker 1: step forward, ready to chase him off if I had to.
Speaker 1: But before I could move, he was gone. One moment
Speaker 1: he was there, the next he wasn't. I blinked, disoriented,
Speaker 1: my mind struggling to catch up. I stood there, drenched
Speaker 1: and shaking, staring at the empty spot where he had been.
Speaker 1: Part of me wanted to run after him, to make
Speaker 1: sure he was really gone, but the more national part
Speaker 1: of me knew better this wasn't something I could handle
Speaker 1: on my own. I backed away slowly, my eyes scanning
Speaker 1: the yard for any sign of movement. When I reached
Speaker 1: the door, I turned and bolted inside, locking it behind me.
Speaker 1: My breath came in ragged gasps as I leaned against
Speaker 1: the door, the bat slipping from my hands. I went
Speaker 1: back to check on Arthur. He was still in bed,
Speaker 1: clutching his blanket, his eyes wide with fear. It's okay, buddy,
Speaker 1: I said, trying to sound calm. He's gone. We're safe now.
Speaker 1: But as I sat there holding my son, I couldn't
Speaker 1: shake the feeling that this wasn't over. The storm still
Speaker 1: raged outside, the wind howling through the trees, and somewhere
Speaker 1: out there in the darkness, I knew he was still watching.
Speaker 1: The storm finally passed in the early hours of the morning,
Speaker 1: leaving behind a world drenched and battered by the night's fury.
Speaker 1: I didn't sleep after that second encounter, instead staying by
Speaker 1: Arthur's side, listening for any sign of the intruder returning.
Speaker 1: But the house remained early silent, save for the steady
Speaker 1: drip of rain water from the eaves. When dawn broke,
Speaker 1: I went outside again, this time armed with a sense
Speaker 1: of determination rather than fear. I needed to know if
Speaker 1: there was any trace of the man who had stalked
Speaker 1: our yard through the storm. The yard was a mess,
Speaker 1: the grass slick with mud and debris scattered everywhere. I
Speaker 1: walked the perimeter, checking the tree line and the corner
Speaker 1: of the house where I had last seen him. There
Speaker 1: were no footprints, no signs that anyone had been there.
Speaker 1: It was as if the storm had washed away all
Speaker 1: evidence of his presence. But I knew what I had seen,
Speaker 1: what Arthur had seen. It wasn't just our imaginations playing
Speaker 1: tricks on us. I called the police explaining what had happened.
Speaker 1: They came by later that morning, taking my statement and
Speaker 1: walking the property with me, But like me, they found nothing,
Speaker 1: no signs of forced entry, no clues as to who
Speaker 1: the figure might have been or what he wanted. It's
Speaker 1: possible it was just someone trying to find shelter from
Speaker 1: the storm, one of the officers suggested, though his tone
Speaker 1: didn't convey much conviction. Maybe, I replied, but I didn't
Speaker 1: believe it. There was something about the way the man
Speaker 1: had appeared, the way he had watched us, that didn't
Speaker 1: fit with the idea of a lost traveler. After the
Speaker 1: police left, I spent the rest of the day feeling
Speaker 1: on edge, my nerves frayed from the lack of sleep
Speaker 1: and the lingering fear that he might return. Arthur was quiet, too,
Speaker 1: staying close to me as we went about our day.
Speaker 1: I tried to keep things normal, but the unease hung
Speaker 1: over us like a shadow. That night, after Arthur was asleep,
Speaker 1: I went back outside one last time. The air was
Speaker 1: cool and still, the storm's fury replaced by an almost
Speaker 1: eerie calm. I walked the yard again, flashlight in hand,
Speaker 1: checking every corner, every shadow, but once again there was nothing.
Speaker 1: I stood at the edge of the yard, looking out
Speaker 1: into the woods. The trees were dark and silent, their
Speaker 1: branches swaying gently in the breeze. I couldn't shake the
Speaker 1: feeling that someone or something was still out there watching.
Speaker 1: As I turned to go back inside, I caught a
Speaker 1: glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye.
Speaker 1: I whipped around, shining the flashlight into the trees, but
Speaker 1: I saw nothing, just the darkness stretching on and on.
Speaker 1: I stayed out there for a long time, staring into
Speaker 1: the woods, trying to convince myself that it was over,
Speaker 1: that we were safe. But deep down I knew that
Speaker 1: wasn't true. The storm had passed, but the fear it
Speaker 1: brought with it had left its mark, a lingering sense
Speaker 1: of dread that wouldn't easily fade. I went back inside,
Speaker 1: locking the door behind me. As I lay in bed
Speaker 1: that night, I couldn't help but think of the man
Speaker 1: standing out there in the storm, watching us. Whoever he was,
Speaker 1: wherever he had come from. I knew he was still
Speaker 1: out there, and I had a feeling he wasn't done
Speaker 1: with us yet. D